I was standing at the river’s edge when she came up beside
me, crouched, and splashed her face with icy water. She peeled off her stocking
cap and ran a wet hand through her short white hair. Next, she dipped her
pointer in the flowing creek, and massaged her single toothed gums. Just a
little after six, her morning beauty routine complete, she turned to me.
We'd been talking for a few minutes when she asked if I knew
her language. I was caught off guard since we’d been chatting in Mongolian
already. She had to repeat that question three times, though, before I
got it.
Then she asked if I would help her. “Sure!” I said, and followed
her to a pile of collected branches. She took off her cotton sash, and spent
ten minutes weaving it through her firewood to ensure the load would stay
together.
I kept reaching out, wondering when I was to help, but she
kept repeating, “not yet.” When she was finally satisfied that her knitted
twigs were secure, she squatted down in front of them. After slipping her left arm through a make shift shoulder loop, she asked me to hand to her a walking stick that was on the ground behind
me. Taking the staff from me, she adjusted the right loop onto the top end, and
immediately leaned forward on the stick pulling the load behind her a bit up
off the ground. I thought that I should carry her package for her, but frankly, I wasn't sure I could. “Now, lift and give it to me,” she said. So I quickly moved
behind the heavy load and helped to maneuver it onto her “c” shaped back. Then,
off she went. I stood watching in amazement, as she toddled off toward home
carrying two thirds of her weight in wood.
Convicted! I frequently complain about not having hot water,
about icky tasting tooth paste, about my ‘so heavy’ six pound laptop and about
feeling old. This woman was well into her 80's and less than 90 pounds. No
complaints from her. She simply wanted to know if I loved her beautiful
Mongolia.
